For Angels to Fly
by therealmrsniallhoran
Summary: Niall and Addison live two completely different lives, but a stroke of Irish luck might make their two worlds collide.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: **Introduction

**Two teenagers.**

Two different lives.

From two different homelands.

In two different worlds.

**She:** She was not given much in her 16 years on Earth. She was the oldest of three children, with one younger sister (age 12) and one little brother (age seven). Her life could be considered decent, but only for a decade. Her parents divorced when she was nine, and the brutal custody battle that followed left her siblings and her in the possessive clutches of their lethargic, drunken mother who never seemed able or willing to hold down a job. As a result, in the past seven years the electricity and water for their run-down home in inner-city Houston, Texas, had been shut off countless times, the pile of bills had stretched continually higher toward their home's leaky ceiling, and they were forced to sell their television, computers, cell phones, and even one of the younger children's beds to barely pay for their meager supply of food and clothes. The clothes they _are_ awarded with are hand-me-downs from Goodwill, decorated with unattractive patterns and various stains. Pretending to be alright became a habit for her for at least half a decade after the divorce, but eventually, she found it nearly impossible to even crack a smile. She didn't talk much at school. She didn't participate in any activities, especially ones that would force her to talk to people. Consequently, she was virtually friendless, penniless, and depressed.

She could, however, occasionally find refuge from the dysfunctional life she lived. She just had to pick up the Ibanez zebrawood guitar her father gave her on her eighth birthday – the one item she absolutely refused to sell, close her baby blue eyes that had long since lost their sparkle, and strum her problems away as she played herself to sleep.

Addison Marie Kelly's 16th birthday was December 6, 2011. She was the only one who remembered.

**He: **He was one of the most privileged teenagers on the planet. He grew up in an upper middle-class family in a small, but wealthy, town in the heartland of Ireland called Mullingar. His childhood was full of friends, a relatively normal family, and a burning passion for music. When he was sixteen, he auditioned for The X Factor in Dublin, Ireland, and made it through to boot camp, where he was lumped into a group with four boys from England. From there, they performed ten weeks of the live show, after which they were voted off. Luckily, judge Simon Cowell still believed that the boys were destined for greatness. Cowell signed One Direction to his record label, SYCO, and in less than a year, the boys had gone from unknowns in their five hometowns to international superstars. "The Irish One" was always a fan favorite, known for his carefree attitude, his love for any and every food, and, of course, his voice – underappreciated by their management, but truly one of a kind. At the age of 18 he already had three hit singles, one #1 album, two tours, and thousands of dollars to his name, in addition to the millions of girls across the globe who might consider killing someone if it meant they got a glimpse of the teenage heartthrob whose pictures were flooding their Tumblr dashboards and Twitter timelines every second of every day. Also, he got to spend almost all of his time with his four best friends, who happen to be his bandmates as well. Though "lucky" is an understatement, he was the epitome of "the luck of the Irish."

Out of the five band members, he was clearly the most skilled when it came to playing his favorite instrument – the guitar. At times during shows, he would completely stop singing, and simply accompany the other boys on his guitar. He also recorded much of the guitar for the band's second album.

Of course, he would also spend hours playing at home during his vacations, which were few and far between. He would close the door to his small bedroom where he spend his first comparatively uneventful 16 years, pick up his guitar – his most prized possession, close the same bright blue eyes that drove their millions of fans into hysterics, and play. Eventually, he would forget about everything. It made him feel like a normal teenager – something he knew he was far from, and wasn't sure he would truly experience again.

Niall James Horan turned 18 on September 13, 2011. He spent his birthday visiting various clubs in London with his bandmates, surrounded by media and fan attention.

**Two teenagers.**

Two completely different paths:

one at the bottom of the societal food chain,

one at the top of the music charts.

**Two teenagers – as different as two people could be.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**_Point of View: Allison Marie Kelly_**

**_December 3, 2012._**

My mother's obnoxious, drunken laugh echoes from the kitchen into my bathroom as I prepare myself for bed. I sigh. _Four nights this week she's come home drunk, and it's only Thursday. _Another clearly intoxicated cackle follows, this one more masculine. _And this time she brought a guest. Perfect._

I take a swig of tap water, swirl it around my teeth, and spit it out, along with the toothpaste I used. I wipe my mouth on a towel, and just as I lay my hand on the doorknob, it opens ever so slightly. I pull it toward me and look down at my little brother, Andrew, clutching his last memory of our father – a torn and tattered blanket, formerly white, now an unsightly shade of tan, and covered in tiny teddy bears. He holds onto that thing like it's his lifeline as he stares up at me, eyes open wide. I swallow, trying to keep myself from cracking. I hate seeing him like this, and thanks to our mother, it was becoming much more frequent.

"Come on, bud," I whisper, putting my hand on his shoulder and squatting down to look him in his big brown eyes. Luckily, those were the only trace of our mother he had in him; he was an angel. "You can sleep with me tonight."

He manages to nod faintly as he reaches up to hold my hand. When we pass our sister Allie's room, all we can hear is the blasting of whatever her musical interest was this week. It always changes, depending on what the media told her was cool – actually, what her friends at school with some access to the media told her was cool. We have none.

I rap my knuckles softly on her door, then realize there was no way she would hear me. I knock again more forcefully. No response. I give up and walk in, interrupting another episode of her dancing in front of her mirror, belting out bubblegum pop lyrics, very off-key from the voices of the harmonizing boys I could hear from the hallway. She stops singing immediately, glaring at my reflection. She spins around with her arms crossed, not bothering to stop the abuse of my poor little brother's and my ears.

"Um, excuse me?" She sasses. "Don't you knock?" I reach over to her CD player and pause it.

"Yes, I do. You just can't hear me over whatever that was. Now, I want—"

"One Direction." I hesitate before responding, confused.

"What?" She rolls her eyes, blue like mine. Clearly, I've never been up to date on what's popular in the world, and quite frankly, that's the least of my worries.

"_One. Direction._ That's what I was singing." I pause again, wondering if she was going to explain why that should be important to my life. Predictably, she doesn't.

"Alright, anyway, Andrew and I want to try to get some sleep, so I need you to either turn that off or turn it down a lot. Like, a _lot, _a lot_. _Got it?" She rolls her eyes again. "And lock your door, okay?" Her attitude diminishes for a moment, perhaps realizing my intentions were good.

"Okay, I will. Night, Andrew," she bends down and kisses him on the top of his messy, brown hair. "Night, Addie," she wraps her arms around me, and I do the same, pecking her forehead.

"Night, girl. Get to bed soon, alright? You don't need to be up too late."

"Okay, Addie. Love you."

"Love you, too."

I close the door quietly behind Andrew and me as we silently make our way down to my bedroom, trying to pretend that nothing was going on in the living room.

Allie and I have a very complicated relationship. I don't even understand it, most of the time. She's twelve years old, and about to enter the world of teenagerdom. Since our mother is virtually incompetent, I'm her only source of intelligence when she has questions about this new and confusing world. Sometimes, we play the traditional roles of admiring younger sister and responsible, loving older sister. She asks me things, I'm relieved she doesn't already know the answer, and I give her advice on new little crushes she's developed or changes she is going through. It works well.

Other times, she seems to truly believe she is 18 years old, and therefore, two years my senior, and liable to tell me what to do. Unfortunately for her, that is just not that case. Her ego can get a little too big for her 4 feet 11 inches frame, and because she has nowhere else to put it, she just lets it out. Usually onto me.

And once she gets it all out of her system and needs help with something, I'm her best friend again. I have yet to figure out how she sees the normalcy in this vicious cycle.

I tuck Andrew into my bed against the wall, turn off my light, and climb in next to him. After a few minutes, I hear a small sniffle.

"Hey, bud," I rub his arm soothingly. "Shh… It's alright, it's alright…" He sniffs again.

"I miss Daddy."

This startles me. I was nine when our parents split, which was only about half a year after Andrew was born.

"Andrew, you were only six months old when we saw him last, how could you remember what he's like?" He inhales deeply, then exhales.

"I don't," he pauses. "But he had to be better than mom… wasn't he?"

Our father had a problem in almost the same way our mother does. He was addicted to his job like she's addicted to getting drunk and bringing home random guys to the place where her children live. We hardly ever saw him at home, and when we did, he was asleep, exhausted from working so hard and so late.

However, there were a few days I could remember more clearly than any others from my childhood. When he was off of work, especially on Memorial Day weekend, we would pack up the family and head out to the Frio River to escape the scorching south Texas heat that was threatening to melt us on the spot. Allie and I would help our mother prepare a picnic the morning we left, and we would find a camping spot right on the shore of the river to enjoy it, with easy access to our favorite all-purpose cooling system. We would laugh with each other, telling stories and making jokes until our cheeks hurt.

For those few days every once and a while, I could see how much my father actually cared for us, his family, even though he didn't always show it. He worked so hard and so much because he wanted to be sure he could provide for us. He didn't want us to be one of those families that ended up how we are now. Evidently, my mother didn't see it that way, but I knew what was truly in his heart.

"Yeah," I whisper finally. "Yeah, he was."

That seems to satisfy Andrew. I feel him go limp in my arms as his breathing becomes slower and deeper. It gives me a moment to remember that I'm turning 17 in three days. _Wow, _I think. _Time flies._

I wonder what's running through Andrew's mind as I see him smiling faintly, drifting off into the unblemished world of dreams. I soon follow, trying to forget everything surrounding me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**_Point of View: Niall James Horan_**

**_December 3, 2012._**

"Best show EVER!" Harry shouts as he throws back the bottle in his hand, taking a large swig and collapsing on the couch of our tour bus.

"That crowd was absolutely massive," Liam adds. "I don't think I've ever seen that many people in one place." He sits down next to Harry.

"And they were so loud, oh my God," Louis slightly yells, rubbing his temples. "We're all probably talking really loudly, I can hardly hear a thing."

"I agree; definitely one of our best, boys," Zayn snatches the bottles from a protesting Harry, downing a sizable amount of it. "Did you guys see that blonde in the front that kept looking at me and smiling? Oh, man."

"Who, Niall?" We all laugh at Louis, and at Zayn's reaction. He always does this after a show. I smirk, shaking my head, and go to lie down on my bunk.

"Sorry, Zayn. I think Niall was looking at me," Liam shoots me a puppy dog face. I shrug.

"I can't deny it. His single kidney really turns me on," I wink at Liam, Zayn pretending to be hurt.

"I think it's because he looks like Justin Bieber!" Louis always knows exactly what to say to get everyone laughing. It's a special gift that he has that I haven't seen anywhere else. No matter what mood you're in, just hang out with Louis. You'll feel better.

Suddenly, we hear a familiar sound from outside the bus: the high-pitched squeals of dozens of screaming fans. And, as usual, the bus driver starts it up immediately and begins to roll out of the back parking lot of Madison Square Garden in New York City.

I crawl out from my bed and go to the back window of the bus. Knowing that the sight of me would make them follow us even longer, I hide underneath the window and peak out. About seven girls, all around the ages of 15 or 16, are sprinting as fast as they're physically capable of, but quickly falling behind. Just-purchased T-shirts are clutched in their hands, flying behind them. Purses are slung over the shoulders of the three girls remaining in the chase, left to hang on for dear life as their owners throw caution to the wind, following our bus onto a very busy street.

The speed limit has picked up to 45 miles per hour, but the girls are still trying. Liam kneels down next to me, watching them in awe. Even though they are far behind us by now, we still see a short, brunette girl in a striped shirt and red shorts almost trip and fall in the middle of the street. Liam and I both inhale quickly, then look at each other and exhale a sigh of relief when we see her catch herself. We look back out the window to see the three girls bent over, hands on knees, standing in the grass on the median in the middle of the road, fading quickly into specks in the distance. We watch until they become that small, then Liam turns to me again.

"Who would you do that for?" I look at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, whose tour bus would you chase down, on foot, in the dark, and onto a busy street, just so… Well, I don't really know what those girls were trying to accomplish, and they probably don't know either, but, anyway – would you do that for anyone?"

I glance out the window again at the New York City skyline, thinking about his question. It was a pretty crazy thing to do. And for what?

"Honestly," I pause. "I don't think I would. For anyone." Liam nods. "A few years ago I might've said Justin Bieber, but now that I've seen it happen from this angle… I don't think I would."

Liam nods again, understandingly. We share a silence for a moment, but it isn't awkward. We've gotten so close that nothing's awkward anymore.

"I don't think I'll ever really realize how much our fans love us… or why they love us so much, for that matter," Liam looks at me, both of us still kneeling on the floor at the back of the bus. "One thing I do understand, though, is that that right there," he says, pointing at the window, "is love."

I nod slowly, trying to take it all in. Even after two years together, it still blows my mind when I see the things our fans do for us. We mean more to them than any of us will ever understand, and they mean more to us than they'll ever know.

"We're so lucky." I glance at Liam with a small smile.

"We sure are, Niall."

He pats me on the back, then stands up to go to his bed. I get up and follow him, climbing up to my bed on the top. I pull my phone out of my pocket, open Twitter, and type, "The audience at MSG was incredible! so much energy, our fans are the best in the world. nota doubt" I press the 'Tweet' button.

I'm about to set my phone down and pass out, when I decide to add, "but please be safe everyone, we arnt worth putting yourself in danger, so drink lotsa water and dont run in the street. love you all, night!"

My eyelids flutter shut, but I force them open again long enough to turn off the volume and screen on my phone. It's still in my hand when my arm falls to my bed, motionless. My eyes slowly close as my mind drifts away peacefully.


End file.
